


My Aunt's a Samurai

by hooksandheroics



Series: sweet tooth [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, i just sprinkled a little bit of fluff --, oops i sprinkled em all, single dad!Bellamy, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war council study a marshmallow they found in the woods, Clarke meets the Amazonian - I mean, the aunt - and learns that huge blessings come in small packages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Aunt's a Samurai

**Author's Note:**

> See the notes below for the translation. Also, thank you so much for all the support I'm getting here on this site. I hope you don't get tired of me. :)

Four differently colored gummy bears stand on the plate in a small circle around a piece of blue marshmallow, all looking grave and serious at it as if it were the first marshmallow they have ever come across. At the head of it all is a pair of dark eyes and messy, just-woken-up curls.

“If they roast it, maybe they can get rid of the radiation?”

Bellamy turns around the corner with a bowl of batter in both his hands, raising his eyebrows at his son perched on a stool and staring intently at the jelly war council as they decide what to do so that their camp will not starve for the night.

“That’s a good idea, lieutenant,” his boy replies, trying to lower his voice to the lowest he can. Bellamy laughs quietly at the sad attempt as he pours the batter into the pan. “Clarke doesn’t agree with your decision, however.”

He whips his head to look at the boy so quickly he thinks he’ll have a stiff neck for _days_.

“Did you name one of them ‘Clarke’?” he asks, fighting to keep his face from betraying his emotions in front of his kid. Auggie only names his candies after four people: Bellamy, Octavia, his aunt, his late mother whom he has never met and only seen in pictures, and himself. Ever since they moved to New York, it’s the same story.

_‘These people fell from the sky – and then they don’t know what to do so they eat plants and sometimes bugs and fight._

_‘You’re like the leader and I’m like your vice-leader – like a lieutenant, but sometimes I get to be the leader, okay? And mom will be the cook, and aunt Octavia will hunt because she has lots of big knives at her house.’_

Auggie nods, but keeps his focus on the gummy bears. “Yeah, and she’s the yellow one and she doesn’t like your decision. She says nobody knows which parts you can eat and what you can’t eat. She says we’ll just eat leaves for the meantime.”

It takes a minute for him to reply, doesn’t really know what to say. Maybe he ought to cut him back on his cable watching, or maybe just buy the animal books that are more child-friendly.

When he does find his voice, he focuses on one thing rather than the other. “And why is she always saying ‘no’ to the lieutenant?” he turns back to his pancakes and starts flipping them, ignoring the bittersweet pain in his chest.

“Because you two always fight in real life,” he answers simply. “And Nurse Clarke always wins.”

His eyes widen at that. “She does _not_!”

“Just because you don’t admit it doesn’t mean it’s not true,” his boy mumbles, and okay, he cannot trust anyone in this household anymore. He transfers the pancakes on a plate and serves it to the kitchen counter, nudging the boy to sit up.

Auggie pushes the plate of his gummy bears aside and grins at his father, all teeth and sunshine in his ‘My Dad’s a Historian’ shirt and purple pajamas, and really, who can stay mad at that face?

Bellamy sighs in defeat and takes the seat across from him, starting on his meal just as he does. He listens as the kid babbles about birds and hollow bones and earthworms and _no bones_ , so it may be a good thing that he’s done with his breakfast by the time the boy’s starting on that topic.

He cannot deny, however, that there’s a niggling question at the back of his mind that’s just waiting for the right time to be asked, so when silence fell between them, he pushes both their plates of finished breakfast away and pulls the gummy bear war council to the center. He looks the kid in the eye and asks.

“Where’s mommy in here?”

He watches as Auggie bites at his lower lip, as he furrows his brows. “Mommy’s gone. Isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is but –

“I know nurse Clarke more than I know my mommy,” he says quietly not meeting his eyes, taking the yellow gummy bear and staring at it with so much seriousness that he didn’t know could ever be seen on a child this young. But then again, between them two, he’s the first one to move on. “I don’t know if she makes pancakes like yours, or if she fights you a lot, or if she laughs when you burn your tongue on your coffee.”

His kid sighs and holds the candy out to him, and he takes it. “But I know that Nurse Clarke does. I just… think the yellow one’s been quiet for too long.”

Bellamy looks at him and then to the little thing on his palm, feels the familiar tendrils of guilt and grief tie around his heart as he tries to remember what _she_ looks like, or how _she_ laughs, or anything about _her_ that would make the sadness go away. And he thinks of how easy it is for Auggie to move on from someone he’s never really known, someone he’s only really seen on pictures and heard of in stories…

And then he thinks about how all these years, he’s done nothing but weigh down a child because of his own grief.

He takes a deep breath and a long second to thank God he has him, and then he gets up, walks around the kitchen island, and stands in front of his son.

“ _Halika nga dito,_ ” he whispers as he gathers his little boy in his arms and hugs him close. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he kisses his curls, holds him tightly.

The boy squirms in his grip and wraps his thin legs around his torso. “I don’t know what you’re saying sorry for, but I forgive you because I love you.”

He chuckles, his heart lifts, and thinks that there is such prominent truth in the words of a child.

* * *

 

 _So,_ Clarke thinks as she grins into her phone. _This is how it is, crouching inside a broom closet with her butt sitting on top of one of the rusty metal buckets as she hides to take this phone call._

Of course, if there’s anyone she’d do anything for, he is probably on top of the list right after walking into her life. Literally, she might add.

“Yeah, hi,” she replies, biting her lip when the voice on the other line impatiently demands her attention. “Sorry, I just went to find a quiet place.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and then, “It’s okay, Nurse Clarke. _Tatay_ will be gone for another hour anyway. He’s with Aunt Octavia in the kitchen making dinner, it’s gonna take them an hour before they get started. Nurse Clarke, what time are you coming home?”

 _Home_. Clarke’s heart jumps at that. It’s such a little word but the fact that this kid thinks her home is with them is the cause of many a day’s light mood and easy smiles. The thing is, she hasn’t technically moved in with them (yet – she’d like to think maybe… someday), but she spends ninety percent of her free time with the Blake father-and-son duo that she thinks the mice have taken her apartment as their own by now.

She doesn’t mind. Not really.

But the truth to the matter is that for her, home is a bus ride to a small neighborhood and a dinner with a man and his small carbon copy – rice in her hair, and small apologetic hands picking them out of it. Dark eyes gazing fondly at them, a deep, warm chuckle, a kiss on her cheek, on her forehead, her nose, and her lips.

“… I’ll be there in an hour and thirty,” she replies with a chuckle. “To give your dad and aunt more time, okay?”

She hears giggling on the other end and she doesn’t even stifle her stupidly goofy grin. “I can’t wait for you to meet Aunt Octavia. She’s, like, the coolest samurai ever.”

It is then that she discovers just how quickly her hands can sweat.

Sure, Bellamy and Auggie have mentioned the elusive Octavia Blake a few times before, mostly in outrageous stories (now that she thinks about it, the stories that include Octavia Blake _are_ freakishly outrageous – maiming a burglar with a kitchen knife?) and nothing can paint a more terrifying picture than a seven-year old’s exaggerated storytelling and a grown man nodding in approval. But Clarke has never met her, and she thinks she has the right to feel this nervous about meeting the only other bloodline related family member of the Blake’s, especially when she imagines a sword wielding Amazonian to take the place of a blank picture.

“Y-yeah, me too,” she replies, clearing her throat. “Hey, I gotta go, but I’ll see you later, baby.”

“Bye, Nurse Clarke!”

* * *

 

When they told her about Octavia Blake, samurai extraordinaire and part-time crime-fighter, Clarke did not expect the door to the Blake household to open to a woman who is a good few inches smaller than her, wearing a bright yellow apron. What she _did_ expect are sharp eyes, sharp features, and intricate braids on her head. (At least she got _that_ one right.)

So she was caught standing dumbly on their front porch, hands holding a box of pie in the air, gaping.

“Clarke. Griffin,” Octavia says, and it may sound like a question, but it looks to her as if it’s an assessment of some sort.

“That’s me,” she replies, proud that her voice only faltered for a _bit_.

They stare at each other for God knows how long until, much to her relief (and probably utter surprise), a grin breaks on Octavia’s face, all open and cheery and relaxed. Clarke feels a weight lift from her shoulders and finds that she’s returning the smile as well.

“Let me take that –

Just as Octavia was reaching for the pie, a small body collides with her hip, small wiry arms winding around her waist, and a very jovial squeal of delight reaching her ears. A bit of air rushes out of her lungs, but she recognizes who it is just as she was crouching down to give him a proper embrace.

Clarke thinks she hears Octavia hum in satisfaction at the display, but she was busy affectionately squeezing the little boy in her arms.

It is later that evening that Clarke finds herself sitting on the front steps with Octavia, both of them sporting wine glasses in their hands, pleasantly enjoying the night breeze. Needless to say, Clarke found that she and Octavia hit it off well (probably too well, judging by the suspicious looks Bellamy kept shooting between them two during dinner).

“So, you and my brother, huh?” she asks, the casual tone in her voice making it all that much harder for Clarke to figure out whether this is a test or not.

She nods, hums, even, but carefully watches Octavia’s far away expression. She doesn’t seem contemplative, nor apprehensive. She just looks content and satisfied.

“Well, I know Bellamy doesn’t like to talk about it,” she starts, dark eyes looking down at her glass. “But Auggie’s mom, Macy, she’s… she was his saving grace. She was so selfless, always looking out for my brother when he doesn’t do it for himself. She was _so_ selfless she didn’t even tell him she’d die giving birth to their child until she’s slipping away from him on the hospital bed…”

“Octavia – I –

“No, it’s okay,” she replies, giving Clarke a small smile. “I’m not saying this to… compare or anything. I just need you to understand that after Macy, Auggie became his everything. Before Macy and Auggie, there was me. I need you to know that when one of them gets hurt, the other feels it, too.”

“I would never,” Clarke stammers, her heart feeling the heavy set of the history the Blake’s have had.

“Good,” Octavia says, giving her that smile that looks like she’s restraining it from getting bigger. “Because I like you.”

Clarke lets her smile get wider.

* * *

 

That night, just as he has his hands down a bubbly sink, a pair of arms encircles him from behind. He immediately recognizes whose they are because he only knows one person who buries her nose at his shirt and breathes him in no matter how bad he smells. He couldn’t fight the grin from taking over his face, and over his sullen disbelief at how his sister and the girl he’s dating has hit it off so fast, it’s like he was not even there during dinner.

 _Okay,_ he thinks. He’s actually genuinely relieved that there’s no bloodshed (not that he brings home his dates at all…), and that the camaraderie between the women are not because of him and his son. It’s just that it’s not really good to have a one versus three ratio, when one versus two has already been too rough.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” he chuckles, feeling her press her cheek to his shoulder blade.

“Nothing,” she replies, tightening her arms around him. “I just… thank you.”

He stops scrubbing at a plate and places it aside, rinsing his hands and toweling them off, before turning around in her arms to wrap his own around her. “What do you mean? I should be the one thanking you.”

She shakes her head with a small smile, tucking herself under his chin. “Before you, I had a distant mom, emotionally and physically. She’s all I had. And then you came… Auggie came. I was… swept up. I didn’t know you’d be this important to me until – until now. And now, I’ve got more family than I never thought I’d have.”

She can feel his hand stroking her hair, feel the evenness in his breathing, and she couldn’t help but think she would be content just staying like this. “I think that’s the best thing, you know? You _never_ know.”

There is silence where the only sound that matters to her was the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “Guess I got lucky, then, huh?” she murmurs.

She raises her head and looks him in the eye, an incredible grin on her lips. “Me, too,” he whispers back.

**Author's Note:**

> "Halika nga dito." = "Come here."


End file.
